You're The Heat In My Bones
by MusicAndMagic
Summary: He was Paris' most beautiful, passionate and dangerous revolutionary. She was a poor, heartsick seventeen year old street-urchin girl, who masked her sadness with her defiance and wit. But Eponine sees something in his eyes, something beyond the fire and steel - and she knows that his heart needs just as much as hers does. (Rating will most likely change from T to M. Please R&R!)
1. Eponine

**Hi everyone! So after seeing Les Miserables numerous times and finishing the unabridged version not too long ago, I feel like Eponine and Enjolras would have made an incredible pairing! So this is just my way of getting my OTP out to the world. I hope you all like it, and please R&R if you want me to continue! :)**

* * *

Eponine Thenardier stepped out of the little hovel of a house that was usually occupied by herself, her younger sister Azelma, and her mother and father. She had tears in her eyes, and a stinging red mark on her left cheek – she could almost still hear the sharp sound of the slap that had resonated throughout the tiny living space as her father had brought his hand down on her face as hard as he could. She bit her lip – hard – she could taste the blood spilling back into her mouth. Why did he have to hit her? All she did was say that a strange man had come into the town, with a beautiful young daughter she had heard him refer to as 'Cosette.'

She paused, with her back to the wall of the alley, thinking hard. Where had she heard the name Cosette before?

Eponine closed her eyes, as the memories of her childhood years came rushing back to her. Cosette. The poor, blonde, little thing that had lived with her family before a gentleman had come to take her away. She felt a stab of jealousy – Cosette had grown up so beautifully, and walked with the air of a wealthy and noble young lady – whereas Eponine lived life as a pitiful street urchin with loveless parents and abusive bruises on her body. She suddenly felt very self conscious of her torn, tattered dress, and her bare feet. She gave a sad smile at nobody in particular, then began walking out of the alley.

'I'll go to Cafe Musain,' she thought. 'Maybe I'll see Marius.'

Her sad smile brightened as she thought of him. Marius Pontmercy. The rich boy who fought for the rights of the poor. She thought of his kind smile, his pretty eyes, his lovely hair, the way he was always so gentle and soft with her. His lovely hair. Eponine decided she would quite like to run her fingers through his hair. And maybe kiss him too, someday. Maybe one day he would see that he meant the world to her. Maybe one day he would feel the same way about her. She laughed, a pitiful sound. The bourgeois boy and the street urchin girl. What a love story would that be!

The bruise on her face hurt. She closed her eyes and put her fingers against it, and while walking straight ahead, she bumped into someone heading directly across her path.

'Oof!'

She opened her eyes, and stepped back automatically. The person she had stepped into was the last person she ever expected to run into. It was none other than 'the' Enjolras, and she couldn't help but shrink in his presence.

'I'm so sorry, sir,' she said hastily, moving her hand from her face to touch his elbow in apology.

Enjolras was the twenty-two year old leader of the revolutionary students, and a friend of Marius. He had more admirers than he had friends, and as Eponine looked at him, she couldn't help but think that it was for a good reason. He had an intimidating and dominating air about him – he always looked serious and calculating. He had a love for France and freedom that nobody could contest. And he was also dangerously attractive. He was tall, and had blonde curly hair. His face reminded her much of the pictures of the beautiful Greek gods that she had seen in the books Marius had showed her when he was studying his history courses at his university. His eyes were as blue as the oceans that Eponine had read about in her own childhood books, and when he spoke, everyone would be quiet and listen to that voice that sounded like melted gold. All of the girls lusted after him, but never once was Enjolras ever seen with one of them. Eponine suddenly felt ugly in front of him – in her tattered dress, bare feet, messy hair, ashy face, and above all, a huge, red slap-mark spanning her left cheek.

He looked down at her, and she looked back at him, with much effort. Keeping eye contact with him was one of the most terrifying things she had ever done.

'It's all right,' he replied, in his businesslike tone. Eponine could feel his eyes trailing the mark on her face, and she blushed.

'Did someone hit you?' he asked.

'I- I fell,' she stammered. The last thing she wanted anyone to know, was that her father was abusive. It would just bring her even more shame, and as rough as he was with her – he was still her father, and she felt a duty to him.

'You fell on one spot on your left cheek?' he asked icily.

Eponine didn't reply.

'Did someone hit you?' he repeated.

'Yes,' she whispered. She didn't want to tell him. Then why did she?

'Who was it?'

'My father,' she said, almost immediately clapping her hand over her mouth. How did that happen? Why did she say that?

Enjolras looked at her, and she felt as though he was being patronizing to her. She felt irritated, even though she knew that it was only natural that he would feel bad for her.

'I don't need your pity,' she said, louder than she expected. She instantly was mortified at talking to him like that.

'I didn't realise I was being pitiful,' he responded. 'I was just curious. However, if someone is hitting you, then you shouldn't sit there and take it.'

'I'm a seventeen year old girl,' Eponine laughed dryly. 'Where am I to go if I leave my father's house?'

Enjolras shrugged. 'When France is free, your options will be endless.'

He turned to leave, but Eponine reached out and grabbed his arm. He turned, one eyebrow raised.

'Are you going to Cafe Musain, sir?'

'Yes?'

'Do you know if Monsier Marius will be there today?'

'He is there.'

'Thank you sir.'

She let go, feeling embarrassed. Enjolras blinked a few times, and then turned to go again. As he walked away, Eponine heard his voice again.

'Don't call me _sir_ again.'

'I apologize.'

'One more thing,' he added, looking her straight in the eye, right before turning into the street of the Cafe. 'If anyone hits you in your life again, you are to tell me, Eponine.'

He turned the corner, and she lost sight of him.

Her heart was thumping. Why was it thumping? She chastised herself for it. It was for a silly reason. Such a silly, childish, girlish reason, that she felt supremely self conscious about it. But yet, with him being who he was, it was natural for anyone in her position to have felt how she did right now.

_ He knew her name._

* * *

**_Please review if you'd like to see more up! I don't upload more chapters unless I get reviews, just because I only upload more chapters if people are interested in reading. It doesn't make sense to upload more if no one's reading! Haha, so if you liked it, please let me know. Thank you xxx_**


	2. A Dilemma

Eponine caught herself, shoving herself back to reality. It was just a little girlish whim she had indulged herself in. Any girl – any _person_ actually, would have been flattered and excitable if Enjolras had known their name.

She walked ahead, following the path he had taken to the Cafe Musain. Her heart began pounding again. Her Marius would be inside.

Enjolras had shut the door behind him, so Eponine had to knock. She was greeted with the smell of cheap wine and the giant grin of the ever-drunk, curly haired Grantaire.

'Oh, hello Grantaire,' she greeted, relieved that it wasn't one of the more serious boys. She quite liked Grantaire. Even though he was a drinker, he was never coarse or abusive. He was always funny and warm, even to Eponine, forever with her raggedy clothes and dirty hands.

'Ponine!' he smiled. 'I was wondering whether you were going to show up today.'

'Is Monsieur Marius around?'

'Eponine!'

She heard a voice behind Grantaire. And she felt her heart squeeze inside of her chest, and butterflies flooded her stomach and her lips broke out into a nervous smile. All because of that voice.

'Sir,' she said quietly, as Marius rounded Grantaire, and stepped outside to meet her. He was wearing his usual day-to-day attire, and even with his slightly wild air, he still looked like a rich bourgeois boy. Eponine stood and admired him, his tall, slender frame, his well crafted face, and his beautiful, warm, kind eyes.

'How many times have I told you not to call me _'Sir'_, Ponine? We're friends, or do you not think so?'

'We are friends,' said Eponine gratefully. She felt as though she was about to melt to the floor. How on earth did Marius not realise what he did to her?

'I'm just off to the market square to meet Courfeyrac to send him a message from Joly. Would you like to come?'

'On a walk, si- Marius?'

'Yes, I suppose.'

'Yes, I would very much like that.'

They gave Grantaire a farewell wave and left the Cafe. Eponine always felt very shabby and poor next to Marius. They were a right sight on the streets – everyone stared at them, and she could almost hear the whispers –

'_What's a poor-me-one like Eponine doing with Marius Pontmercy?'_

'_Street urchin girl and a bourgeois boy! Eh!'_

'_Marius must be desperate for a quick one.'_

Yet, he was never self-conscious or kept a distance from Eponine when they were together in public. She would go as far as to say that he liked her company. Didn't he just say that they were friends?

And that was part of the reason why Eponine loved him. She loved everything about him – from his nose to his lips to the way he smiled when he was in a moment of glee, to the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was confused, to the way he called her 'Ponine', to the way he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows when he spoke in front of a crowd. She was so taken up in just looking at him as they walked, that she almost didn't realise that he had stopped dead in his tracks.

She came to a halt beside him.

'Marius?'

Marius didn't respond. She looked at him.

His eyes were wide, and his mouth was open just a little bit – as one does when they are in awe or surprise. Eponine followed the trail of his eyes, and what her eyes fell on, made her feel sick to her stomach.

His eyes were on the pretty blonde girl that she had grown up, Cosette. Eponine felt as though someone had punched her in the gut. Suddenly, she would have rather had a thousand harsh slaps across the face from her father, than see Marius looking at Cosette like that.

'Eponine... who.. is that?' Marius managed to choke out, barely concealing his eagerness and awe.

Cosette turned to look at him, lifting her eyes, so that her large blue ones met Marius'.

Marius sighed with happiness, and Eponine felt as though she was frozen in place. Her body had gone cold. Her lower lip trembled as if she were about to cry. She bit it hard, keeping a stony gaze on Marius and Cosette. Then, the man with Cosette put an arm around her shoulders, and walked away with her. Cosette gave Marius a smile as she was escorted away by the old man.

'Eponine please,' Marius said, as soon as Cosette was out of eyeshot. 'Please. Who is that?'

'Cosette,' replied Eponine stiffly. Marius didn't notice her tone.

'Find her for me. Tell me where she lives,' he pleaded, looking at Eponine with such fervour and need in his eyes, that she didn't have the heart to tell him no.

Her heart was for him, so if it had to be broken, at least it would be broken to make him a happy man.

'Yes, sir,' she whispered.

Marius noticed Courfeyrac, and hustled off to speak to him, leaving Eponine in the middle of the square, trying as hard as she could not to fall to her knees where she stood.

* * *

Eponine didn't want to go back home that evening. She had found Cosette's address with the help of her streetwise friends. She held the piece of paper with the name of the street scrawled on it, and decided she had better go down to the Cafe and give it to Marius before he asked her for it again.

She put on her belt, which only served to show exactly how small and skinny she was, and set off for the Cafe.

This time, her little brother, Gavroche opened the door. Gavroche was eight years old, sickly and always hungry, but always happy and eager. He didn't stay at the house with her, Azelma and her parents. Her parents had never loved him. He lived in odd places in the city, but mostly spent his time at the Cafe with the older boys. She ruffled his hair, as he stood by to let her in.

'Have you brought the address for Marius then?'

'I have,' she replied, walking up the stairs to the second floor, where the boys were usually located.

She heard Enjolras' commanding voice first, and as she stepped into the room, she saw all of them. Enjolras was standing on a chair, speaking to all of the young men with the help of a large map of Paris, planning out strategic moves. Grantaire was sitting back, a bottle in his hand, gazing at Enjolras in adoration. Marius was there too, looking utterly distracted.

Enjolras noticed Eponine, and stopped speaking. The young men noticed his silence, and all followed his gaze to her.

'I.. I'm here for Monsieur Marius,' she whispered.

Marius leapt off his seat and rushed to her.

'Have you got it then, Eponine? Beautiful Cosette's address?' he asked excitedly, and a sad smile tugged at her lips at his happy smile, as she handed him the small jot of paper. He grabbed it from her, and raced down the stairs with it, leaving her standing awkwardly at the door. She bit her lip, and turned to leave.

'Marius is obsessed with that Cosette lady,' said Joly, from where he sat. 'Is she as beautiful as he says, Eponine?'

'She is very beautiful,' she replied, too quietly.

'You all right, Ponine?' asked Grantaire.

'Yes,' she barely whispered. 'I am fine.'

She retreated from the doorway.

As she slowly walked back down the stairs, she could hear Enjolras end the meeting, and chairs scrape the floor and bottles hit each other as a roar of cheerful talk started amongst the friends.

Eponine opened the door and was about to walk out into the darkness, when a voice called after her.

'It's late, Eponine.'

It was Enjolras. She was too sad to even be intimidated.

'I am used to the darkness, Monsieur.'

'You are a young lady, and it would be highly irresponsible to allow you to walk out into the dark on your own.'

'I am also accustomed to being on my own,' she whispered. Her voice got louder. 'Marius has just left. No one stopped him.'

'Marius is a twenty-three year old man.'

'And I am a seventeen year old woman.'

'My point exactly.'

'I would ask Grantaire to walk me home, but he can't even stand straight.'

'He never can. I will walk you home. I have a favour to ask of you.'

Eponine was taken aback by his statement.

'You, Monsieur?'

Enjolras shut the door behind them, and walked ahead of her. She kept up.

'Eponine, as you are aware, the conditions for the revolution are at their peak. We strike at Lamarque's funeral, within a matter of weeks. There will be casualties, I am sure. Marius has told me that you have a good hand at medicines and wound treatment, do you not?'

'A little bit,' she replied.

'It is unsafe for a woman to be at the barricades, so it is purely your own choice, but if you wish to, you could play a crucial role in the revolution. You will not be on the forefront for your own safety, and should things become too dangerous for you, we have ways for you to get out and into the safety of Paris.'

'Me.. at the barricades?'

Eponine thought about it. She would be away from home. Marius would be there. Without Cosette. What if he died? What if he was shot?

Then she would die too.

They could die together.

The most melancholy sadness came over her heart, at the idea. How ironic, she thought. Now, the only way Monsieur Marius would ever be with me is if we both die.

But if Cosette was not there, couldn't it be possible that Marius could fall for Eponine? She could try to be pretty. And ladylike. And everything that she was not, but Cosette was.

At the end of it all, all she ever wanted was to be around him.

'Yes,' she said breathlessly. 'I accept.'

Enjolras looked a little bit surprised, but then looked at Eponine with a calculating stare.

'Is it because of Marius?'

He still had his strong and commanding voice, and Eponine felt obliged to answer. They turned into an alley, but before she could answer, she felt a hand grab her hair, and then another hand was added to give her a hard shove to the ground.

She screamed and struggled, hearing a drunk, rough voice behind her.

'Eponine Thenardier, you pretty little skirt!'

Eponine gasped, as the drunken assailant released her hair. Her head hurt so much, and she was sure her knees were grazed from how hard he had thrown her onto the cobblestones. He reached forward to pull at her dress as she was on her knees, but he never got the chance.

She heard a pained scream, and when managed to look up, and saw the attacker – a drunk, young urchin man against the wall of the alley, held up off the ground by the collar of his shirt by Enjolras.

Enjolras was at his full height, his eyes full of fire and anger, as he slammed the man against the wall again.

'_Disgusting. Vermin. Filth. Scum_,' he said, enunciating each syllable with a terrifying finality, accompanying each venomous word with a rattling punch to the man's face. Eponine could see blood coursing through Enjolras' fingers from wounds he had made to the man's nose and mouth.

Enjolras finally let the man fall to his knees, shaking and begging in terror.

'Get out of here. If you ever come anywhere near her again, you'll be sorry,' he said quietly. When Enjolras spoke quietly, it was the equivalent to him speaking loudly, only it was more dangerous and threatening. The command, the strength, the definiteness in his voice, was permanently there.

The man scrabbled to his knees and hobbled off as fast as he could go, clearly traumatized by the incident.

Eponine was still on the floor. She didn't know how to feel. She had often been the victim of a drunken slap or two, but no one had ever attempted to.. _violate_ her. She could feel a quiet sob in her throat, but she swallowed it.

Enjolras looked at her. Eponine. She was always at the Cafe with a smile. Sharp. Witty. Attractive. But she had always been hurt. Poor. Lonely. Unloved. It didn't take very much to figure out that it was because of Marius' overwhelming affections for Cosette and obliviousness to Eponine that she was almost broken beyond repair, now.

Eponine was vaguely aware of steely hands taking her by the insides of her elbows and raising her to her feet. She shut her eyes, expecting a rough and angry touch on her already bruised skin, and she was surprised that it was somewhat gentle, at least for someone who had never touched a girl tenderly before. They walked in silence to her house. As she reached her door, she turned to him.

'Thank you, Monsieur Enjolras.'

He looked at her for a long second. It was too dark to see clearly what was going on in those blue eyes of his, but for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to tell her something – but he turned quickly on his heel with a curt nod, and walked away without a word.

_**Thank you for all of your incredibly nice feedback on Chapter 1 everyone! **__** I hope you liked this chapter too. Please review if you'd like the next chapter up! xxx**_


	3. Unexpected

**A/N : Hi everyone! Just wanted to clear up something - I don't write this story only for your reviews. I write because I love this pairing, and I have a lot of ideas and hopes for them. I'm already a few chapters ahead - the only reason I ask for feedback is because I'd like to see if you all are enjoying the story and if it makes sense for me to continue to post - and people have indicated that they do want me to continue to post, so that's what I'll be doing! (If it was purely for me, I'd just read my own work on my computer.) But I know there are a lot of Enjonine shippers out there, and your responses are all so sweet and kind and humbling, I'm really honestly genuinely flattered that people like my story. That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave your thoughts and (constructive or not I guess) criticisms at the end! xxx**

It was just days before Lamarque's funeral.

Eponine woke up early, and headed to a small corner of the hovel to wash. She ran her wet fingers through her long, dark hair, and scrubbed her face and skin and fingernails. She put on a different dress today, and sighed as she snuck into her parents' cupboards and took away a bottle of cheap alcohol (that worked wonders on cuts and bruises), and bed sheets (her mother had many of them) that she could strip to make bandages. Casting one last look around her house, she stepped outside, and shut the door quietly behind her.

She ran lightly, on bare feet, to the Cafe. Naturally, even though dawn had not yet even cracked, all of the students were up and busy, with perfecting their preparations and plans. Eponine burst into the room, and they all looked at her, giving her welcome smiles.

'Ponine, Enjolras said you're coming with us in two weeks?!'

'Yes,' she smiled, a little nervously.

Courfeyrac walked up to her, and picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder.

'Little Ponine is coming to the barricades!'

Everyone was laughing and joking when Enjolras stepped down into the room. Eponine slid off Courfeyrac's shoulder, using one hand to sheepishly sweep her hair out of her face. She showed Enjolras the alcohol and the bandages.

'If you have any more like this, it would be good.'

'We don't,' he replied, shortly.

His briskness was nothing out of the ordinary for Enjolras. But while the others dismissed it, Eponine was curious. After last night, she knew there was more to him than 'Chief Enjolras of the Revolution.' But she didn't question it right then.

'I'll go out and get some more from the market square,' he said. 'I know some people there who will give me for no charge. I'll be back before nightfall.'

'Would you like a company?' asked Grantaire hopefully.

'No,' replied Enjolras, leaving the Cafe.

'I don't think I've ever seen him smile,' said Joly, thoughtfully.

'Enjolras doesn't smile,' defended Grantaire. 'He's too good for that.'

The boys all resumed their work. Eponine patted Joly on the shoulder.

'Has Marius come in today?'

'No, sorry. Probably off after that Cosette bird again today. He's down hard.'

'Yes,' replied Eponine slowly. 'Hard.'

She sat around in the Cafe for most of the day, stripping the sheets into bandages. It was tough work – but Eponine's hands were accustomed to hard work. It was also long work – she contented herself by humming to herself, and listening to the banter of her friends as they worked away on their plans as well.

At about 8PM, Bahorel stepped into the middle of the room.

'Enjolras hasn't returned yet.'

'He's fine, I'm sure!'

'If there's a man who can take care of himself, it's Enjolras!'

Grantaire interjected.

'If he isn't back in an hour's time, we go look for him. Agreed?'

'Agreed,' replied the boys.

* * *

Eponine kept at her work, not worrying about Enjolras. He was the leader of France, as far as she was concerned. Nothing could wound a warrior like him. Her bandages were in a neat little pile, and she felt quite proud of it all. Marius still hadn't come in today. Maybe that was a good thing.

'How ironic,' she thought, 'when Marius isn't here, I can get so much done.'

About ten minutes later, there was a thumping noise at the entrance of the Cafe, and Enjolras threw open the door. Everyone gasped.

His clothes, face and hands were all wet with blood, and he was fuming.

'I'm all right,' he said, trying to fend off the concerned crowd that had formed around him. 'I got into a fight.''

'With who?' asked Feuilly incredulously. 'You've never been so worked up about a fight before!'

'A simpleton, drunken _wretch_,' he said, inclining his head to Eponine, so she would know who he was talking about, 'attacked me on my way back from the market.'

'Did you kill him? Look at all that blood!'

'No. Wounded severely, yes.'

'You look as though he wounded you too.'

'Here and there. Most of the blood is not mine.'

'Well good thing we've got Eponine then!'

Eponine jumped at the mention of her name.

'Go up into the other room,' said Joly. 'Eponine will get you back in gear.'

Enjolras shrugged and silently walked up the stairs, then disappeared into the room.

Eponine took a deep breath. 'Can someone get me some water to clean all of that blood off of him?'

She picked up some of the bandages and took up the alcohol, as Grantaire eagerly provided her with a basin of water.

'Take good care of him,' he said. 'And try not to be too patronizing. He hates people pitying him for anything.'

'Good thing I'm not a pitier then,' replied Eponine, heading upstairs and into the room after the blonde boy.

* * *

Enjolras was sitting back on an armchair in the middle of the room, his eyes closed. He was slowing down his breathing, Eponine deduced. She took a seat on the arm of the chair, pulling a stool towards her with her right foot, and resting her bandages, water and alcohol on it.

'Let me see your face,' she said, gently resting her fingers on his face and turning it to face her.

He tensed at her touch, but eventually relaxed, opening his eyes to meet her large, brown ones.

She dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it until it was just barely damp, and began wiping the blood gingerly off his face.

She leaned closer to him to reach the spots on the other side of his face. Her neck was right in front of his nose, and he could trace the line of her collarbones with his eyes, the length of her neck, the lines of her shoulders. He had never been so close to a girl before, and he found himself thoughtlessly admiring the contours of her neck and shoulders – the way her collarbones met together at the front in a delicate arch, and dipped downwards, disappearing into the skin of her chest.

'You have blood in your hair,' she laughed, running her wet hands through his hair to get rid of it.

It was a feeling he had never experienced before – a young girl, with her hands in his hair. It was foreign to him. But to his own surprise, he didn't want to stop her.

Something about Eponine had always caught his attention. Was it the long dark hair? The passion she had for whatever she set out to do? Her sharp wit? Her ability to fit in with his boys as though she was born to be with them, yet she still had the qualities of a maturing young woman - that sensuous curve to her hips, that fullness in her lips, that slimness at her waist that made everyone gaze at her at some point already?

Enjolras had never been one to indulge in such fancies. But as Eponine was sitting so close to him right now, her hands skimming his face and his hair, he wondered if he should have, at some point in time. France was, and always would be, his first priority and love. But could a woman really bring anything to him?

When she had finished cleaned his cuts and successfully rid his face and neck of all the blood, she remained sitting on the arm of the chair, looking at him.

'You didn't have to fight, you know.'

'He attacked me.'

'That doesn't mean you had to fight back. You've walked away from a lot of things before.'

'He tried to put his hands on you. If I fight for freedom but I can't be bothered to fend a drunken bastard off an innocent woman, then what am I?'

'I don't mean anything to anyone, Enjolras.'

He looked at her incredulously. 'Eponine, if you judge your self-worth based on how Marius deals with you, then you are really incredibly dim witted. Marius is a very decent boy, but if you can't tell that he's wasting your time, then you're not nearly as clever as I thought you were.'

Eponine looked down.

Enjolras looked at her, and rolled his eyes.

'I didn't mean to offend you.'

'You didn't. It's true.'

'Why don't you forget about him?'

'You say that like it's easy. But it isn't.'

Enjolras got to his feet. The topic of love wasn't his forte, and he wasn't keen on embarrassing himself in front of her by talking about it.

'Thank you for all the help, Eponine. Goodnight.'

'Don't go,' she whispered, her voice cracking, right before he reached the door. He turned to look at her. For some reason, her sadness only made her more beautiful – the way her lips quivered and her eyes shone.

She really was beautiful, he thought, even though she did not think so. Any man would admit it. Long, dark hair that framed a heart shaped face. Her eyes were bright and brown, and when she smiled, her face shone as bright as her eyes - even under the slight dirt on her face that came with being a street urchin. Her neck was long and slim, ending in the arch of her collarbones. He found himself staring at her collarbones - they transfixed him. Sharp, defined, _lovely._ Delicate. Eponine on the whole was delicate. Maybe not her wit or her words, but she was delicate. They both knew it.

She walked up to him – slowly – unsurely. She was guided purely by her heart – she almost didn't even know what she was doing.

She was standing right in front of him, only inches way. Her hands trailed up his chest and to his shoulders, and around his neck, before finally resting on each side of his face. Her fingers skimmed his cheekbones and his lips, tracing his handsome features with an aching gentleness that made him involuntarily close his eyes and melt into her touch.

Enjolras had never been a lover. He didn't know the art of sensuality or love, only the art of calculations and lectures and wars. Eponine had never been a calculator or a lecturer- and she had never been a lover either – but there was something about being a young woman with a heart bursting with emotion, which made her much more apt at it than he was.

She reached onto her tiptoes – he was much taller than her – and to her surprise, his hands ended up around her waist, and steadied her. It was so strange for him, but he could feel her warm skin under the thin fabric of her dress, and he liked it.

She tilted her head to one side, and moved her face closer to his, gathering all the strength and courage in her small body.

Then she paused. She was terrified. What was she doing?!

This was _Enjolras._

Revolutionary leader. The chief. The captain.

The dangerous, stern, intimidating, terrifying Apollo of war.

Not a lover.

She was about to make a fool of herself.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she was about to drop onto her feet and race out of the room. But just as she moved her head back, Enjolras moved his forward, pulled her by the hips back towards him, and caught her half open mouth in a kiss.


	4. Trouble

**Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the really kind feedback thus far! Writing this just makes me ship Enjonine even more.. if that's even possible. I hope you all enjoy this chapter - please leave your thoughts and views at the end! By the way, in anticipation of the very near future, the rating of the fic has changed from T to M! And the title has changed from 'Until You Learn To Love' to 'You're The Heat In My Bones'! xxxx**

Eponine gasped against his mouth at the unexpected touch, as their lips met for the first time.

It wasn't the first time she'd kissed a boy – but this kiss was unlike anything else she had ever experienced in her life before.

He was holding her, with one hand on each hip, steady and protective, as if she would try to slink away from him at any moment. He was quite a bit taller than her but his head was angled downward to reach hers – even though she was already standing on her tiptoes, with his support. And his kiss was something beyond what Eponine could ever imagine – she felt as though she could taste his passion, his anger, his despair, his emotions.

Eponine didn't ever think that Enjolras had emotions, but now, as they held each other in the dim room, she could taste them – feel them, from his lips to his fingertips – and she knew. He _felt._ He was a leader, he was strong, he was impassioned –

But above all, he _felt._

Eponine's hands reached up and settled in his hair, pulling his face closer to hers, and they were both surprised at the ease with which their lips fit against and between each others'. They kissed for a long, tender moment, when there was a knock at the door, and Eponine fell back from him quickly, looking mortified. His hands lingered on her waist and his eyes stayed on hers for a long time before he let her go. Only after she was a few feet away from him, he turned to the door.

'Yes?'

Joly popped his head in. Eponine had managed to start back breathing normally.

She could still feel the heat of his hands against her hips.

'You all right, Enjolras?'

'I'm fine. Eponine did a good job of dealing with the wounds.'

'Ah yes, what's our Ponine for? I'll tell the boys you're alright.'

'Thanks, Joly.'

Joly exited again, leaving Enjolras and Eponine in the private silence of the room.

'I'm leaving,' she said. 'It's late.'

'I'll walk you home,' replied Enjolras.

Eponine laughed, her dimples showing. Enjolras had hardly ever seen her laugh to the point where her dimples showed, and he rather liked them.

'Your shirt is covered in blood, Monsieur. For your own good, maybe you should go change before you go out in public. It is not too late yet. I'll be fine.'

She walked to the door, but his voice called her back.

'Eponine.'

She turned, her long, dark hair cascading down one shoulder.

He looked a little bit confused, as if he wasn't sure how to say something to her. She smiled kindly at him.

'I liked it too,' she said softly, then turned and left the room.

* * *

Eponine spent her night thinking about what had happened. She caught herself smiling, and touching her hips where Enjolras had held her earlier. If someone had told her two weeks before, that she would be in the upstairs room of Cafe Musain, kissing the revolutionary leader Enjolras, she would have laughed so hard she would have cried.

But it had happened.

She didn't even think of Marius when it had happened. All she could think of now were Enjolras' words –

''_Eponine, if you judge your self-worth based on how Marius deals with you, then you are really incredibly dim witted. Marius is a very decent boy, but if you can't tell that he's wasting your time, then you're not nearly as clever as I thought you were.''_

And as much as she wanted to tell herself he was lying, she knew he was right.

* * *

A few evenings later, Eponine was making preparations to head down to the Cafe. She rather liked going there a lot more these days – stealing glances at the blonde revolutionary, giving him quick smiles when the blue eyes met the brown, but hardly ever speaking to him. It was a comfortable, pleasant silence. And she liked the way he looked at her – intensely, and sometimes a smile would tug at the corners of his usually stern mouth. She felt a smile on her own face as she thought about him. And she was thinking about Marius less, and less. While it still hurt that he was wandering about on his search for love with Cosette, Enjolras' quiet smiles and smouldering glances were beginning to become the highlights of her day.

Her smile was still on her face, but as she rounded the curve of the house to approach the door, she was stopped dead in her tracks by her father.

'Eponine,' he said, surprisingly pleasantly. It was the first time he had spoken to her since the day before.

'Good evening, father,' she replied, carefully.

'Why don't you go have a wash?' he suggested, with the same too-pleasant tone. 'Your mother and I have an errand for you to run.'

Eponine knew better than to argue with her father. She frowned, but took a step back, to go to the washing area. There, she found a dress – one not unlike her own – simple, plain, brown, but just not as raggedy and tattered as hers.

'What's this?' she called.

'It's for you,' her father responded. 'Put it on after you wash.'

Eponine had a bad feeling about the current turn of events, but she stripped off her old dress, and washed in silence. Then she picked up the new dress – gingerly pulling it over her head, and tossing out her dark, long hair, which fell in waves, to the bottom of her ribs.

She walked outside, where her parents were standing expectantly.

'Eponine, there is a man,' her father began, 'who, as it turns out, can help our family very much with our grave financial issues at this point in time.'

Eponine looked at him, her heart sinking.

'He has seen you, out and about the town, and has made us an offer. Five hundred francs to bed you.'

The matter-of-fact tone with which her father spoke made Eponine even more aware of the fact that her father thought she was more of a commodity – a 'thing', than a human being – his daughter.

'I am not a whore,' she whispered.

'You will be what you need to be,' retorted her father, his voice raising.

'I will not sell my body!' Eponine said shrilly.

'You impertinent little _bitch!'_ her father yelled, jumping at her. Her mother shrieked as Eponine fell backward, onto the floor, under her father's grip.

'You will do as this man says, everything he says, do you understand!'

'NO!' screamed Eponine, struggling to fight him off. He slapped at her, and she rolled onto her side, trying to crawl away from him. He pinned her under him with his knees, gripping her throat with both hands, leaving her gagging and choking, gasping for air. She wriggled hard under him, and he slapped her again, twice, across her back, his long, dirty fingernails digging into her skin, but she grit her teeth, tears stinging her eyes, and kicked her foot backward, knocking the wind out of him as he fell with a thud to the floor. Eponine's eyes were watering from the chokehold, and she coughed hard, her lungs gasping for air.

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the sharp pains in her back. She stepped a safe distance back from him – he was laying, winded, on the floor. He was not a young man anymore, and Eponine was young and though she was skinny – her self-defense adrenaline had given her enough strength to take him down.

'How can you live with yourself?' she shouted at him. 'Pitiful excuse for a man,' she added, stumbling out of the door, listening to her father curse at her until he was out of earshot.

She was walking down the alley, breathing hard, trying to collect herself. Which pig had offered her family 500 francs for a chance with _her?_ It was almost laughable.

She kept walking, for a long time, just walking, until darkness fell. Eponine was accustomed to this – just walking, to clear her head, to clear her soul, from the filth and the hate that surrounded her on a daily basis.

Then she saw Bossuet, exiting a pub on the street.

'Bossuet,' she called. He grinned at her, and walked over, his smile fading when he saw the bright red, fresh marks on her face, and her cold eyes.

'Where does Enjolras live?'

They were the first words that came to her lips – even she didn't know where they had come from. She hastily added – 'It's.. revolution related business. You know, the medical care part.'

'You alright, Ponine?'

'Yes. It's nothing.'

'You're sure?'

Eponine struggled to flash a bright smile at him. 'Yes, Bossuet. I'm sure.'

'He lives in an apartment on Rue 18, just to the left of the tavern up there. His door is the brown one with the copper knocker. It's late Ponine.. are you sure you want to bother him?'

'It's late?'

'It's 9PM.'

Eponine frowned. Had she really been wandering about for so long? Had she really not noticed it getting dark around her for hours?

'It's important.'

'Then go ahead.'

She nodded at him, and walked on in the direction of Enjolras' living quarters. She felt as though she was moving in a trance – in a dream. She couldn't feel her surroundings around her – all she could feel was her hatred for the world and the scars on her body, and the need to find Enjolras and feel his presence – commanding, but recently so comforting to her –

She got to Rue 18, and squinted in the darkness as she tried to find the brown door with the copper knocker. When she found it, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and brought the knocker down, twice.

The door was opened within a minute. Enjolras looked down at her, and it was the first time she'd seen him without his signature red coat. She could see the scarlet suspenders against the white of his shirt, that the coat had often covered.

'Eponine, what the hell are you doing out on the streets at this hour?'

The light from inside his living space shone on her face, he took a deep breath in.

There was a fresh slap mark on her face, over the barely-healed one from the week before. His eyes trailed down her neck and her shoulders and arms – all splotched with red at various points, particularly at her throat. His cheeks flushed with anger and outrage, and she could see his chest beginning to rise and fall in a furious heave.

'Can I come in?' she asked hoarsely.

'I wasn't going to let you leave,' he responded, through gritted teeth.


	5. The First Time

**Well here it is! :) The story is from here on out rated M, so keep that in mind. This was honestly a hard chapter to perfect, but I really liked writing it because I ship the hell out of them. Enjoy and it would be really nice if you leave your thoughts/feedback at the end! xxx**

Eponine stepped gingerly into the dim light of Enjolras' apartment. His eyes had not left the bruises and marks on her pale, almost translucent skin.

'Eponine,' he said, in a weak, helpless voice. 'When.. when did this happen?'

'This evening,' she replied. 'It was my father.'

'And you.. you let him?'

Eponine smiled at him. 'I fought back pretty good, if I say so myself.'

'What happened?'

'He tried to sell me off to some man who offered him 500 francs for me. I don't know who would offer 500 francs for me, but someone did. I know it would have helped my family – but I just can't - '

'Of course you couldn't!' cut in Enjolras, in a sharp tone. 'I told you to come to me as soon as your father ever harmed you again, didn't I?'

'Don't hurt him,' muttered Eponine, looking up at him. 'He's still my father.'

'He's abusive and monstrous!'

'Don't hurt him.'

'So because he's your father, you're going to let him kick and slap the hell out of you whenever he feels like it?'

Enjolras' voice had peaked to a harsh shout. Eponine stepped back from him.

'Do _not_ shout at me,' she said in a low voice, looking him dead in the eye. 'Especially not after what I've just been through.'

'I'm sorry,' he said, closing his eyes. He took a deep, calming breath, and opened his eyes again. 'I'm sorry, Eponine.'

She could feel tears welling up in her eyes again. She wiped them away quickly with her left thumb, and laughed. 'I don't want you to think I'm pathetic or weak. Because I'm not.'

'I don't think you are,' replied Enjolras. 'At all.'

They stood a few feet away from each other, eyes locked on each other. Then he held out a hand, beckoning her to come closer to him. She obliged, walking up to him gingerly, not sure when to stop. He took her petite hand in his large one, and pulled her small body against his.

She buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. And she never wanted to leave. Everything about him was so tall and overpowering and comforting, and she had never felt safer than she had felt in his arms.

She felt his hands combing through the tangles in her hair, then he pulled her head back so he could kiss her forehead.

'I wish the monarchy never existed,' she said, into his shirt. 'So then you would never have to go to fight in a revolution. And then you'd never be in danger.'

'I wish the monarchy never existed too, but I have to fight in the revolution,' he said, sounding amused at her confession. He gave her a squeeze and she winced, as he unintentionally pressed against the scrapes on her back.

'What?' he asked, pulling away.

She looked at him. 'It's nothing,' she said, trying to sound as convincing as she could. He didn't believe her for a moment.

'Come,' he said, pointing to a door to the left of her. She walked after him as he pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit chamber. She smiled. It was exactly as she expected Enjolras' bed chamber to look – books, maps, plans, pens, letters all organized on his desk and bookshelves, with words of famous French Enlightenment thinkers like Robespierre painted in a neat hand on the wall above his bed.

How many lonely nights he had spent here, only in the company of his revolutionary thoughts, not even realizing.

'Sit down,' he said, and she took a seat on the edge of the bed. He sat close to her, and turned her to face him.

'Show me,' he commanded, in a soft voice, that almost broke Eponine's heart.

'Enjolras, no, please,' she said, trying to edge away from him. 'Don't make me.'

He took hold of her wrist, holding her in place, and then put his other hand on her face, turning her to him again.

'Show me,' he repeated, and Eponine could feel tears stinging her eyes again.

She hesitantly pulled down the top of her dress so he could see from her chin to her collarbones, where there were blotches of red here and there, from the finger marks her father had left on her throat. She showed him the insides of her wrists, and her elbows and arms, adorned with little red marks, here and there. She drew up her legs on the bed, and lifted the skirt to her knee, to show him the red spots that had been formed when she had fallen hard after her father had hit her to the floor.

'Oh, Eponine,' he murmured unhappily.

In the dim light of the room, he pulled her close to him, kissing the bruises on her cheek, and then placing his hands gently on her neck, and tilting it upwards, to kiss each one of the bruises on her throat, neck, and the insides of her shoulders.

Eponine closed her eyes and bit her lip, feeling his mouth linger at the spot on the inside of her neck and shoulder.

She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away gently, turning with her back to face him. She unbuttoned the front of her dress and slipped it down her shoulders with her back to him, down to as far as it could go with her still sitting. He had never seen this much of any girl before – her bare back and shoulders towards him, with angry red scars across her upper back.

He reached up and traced the scars with his fingers, and then with his lips.

'Who knew,' she murmured, 'that somewhere inside all that fire and steel, there could be someone gentle and loving in you?'

'Only for you,' he murmured, and his voice was so full of sincerity, that she knew it was the truth.

Then Eponine stood up in front of him, and her dress fell straight to the floor, leaving her clad in absolutely nothing. She took a deep breath and calmed herself before she turned to face him.

'Nothing very special,' she said, with an apologetic, sad smile.

But that statement could not be any farther from the truth to Enjolras.

Her body was so small, beautiful and delicate – pale and smooth, apart from the bruises, which added a strange sort of beauty and fragility to her skin. The contours of her body were so gentle and slender, a small waist leading to curved hips, and then down to her skinny legs with a gap between her thighs and upper legs, which in turn led to her small feet.

Her stomach was flat, and her ribs stuck out a little bit – then led up to her small breasts and up to her collarbones – Enjolras' favourite part of her – those lovely, sharp collarbones. Her eyes were nervous and bright, and her hair fell in waves down to her ribs – her long, pretty, dark hair.

She was a flawed beauty – bruised, poor and lost, but she was so perfect to him. Everything about her. He had never seen anything so stunning in his life. And he had seen his share of 'pretty' bourgeois girls.

'You are _perfect,_' he whispered reverently to her.

Her face broke out into a smile, showing her dimples – the mark of a genuine smile from her.

He stood up in his turn, both of their eyes never leaving each other's, and unhooked his suspenders and set about unbuttoning his shirt, with those steady, strong hands.

* * *

Five minutes later, Eponine was on her back under him, her lips against his, her hands in his hair, pulling him closer and closer to her. Occasionally he would break the kiss to press his lips against her collarbones instead, and linger on her neck and throat, gentle kisses, so he wouldn't irritate her bruises. Her hands were moving from his golden hair to his back - muscular and smooth; his body was perfect.

His hands were under her waist, pulling her body up to his. Her stomach pressed against his, her chest against his, her sighs filling his mouth and body.

'You don't have to do anything you don't want to,' he managed to get out, between kisses.

'I want this more than anything,' she whispered back. 'I swear.'

He left a trail of kisses down her neck, across her collarbones, down between her breasts and straight down her stomach, and then he went back up to her lips. He took both of her hands, and stretched them out on either side of her, and then followed suit with his, stretching his out so that he could lace his fingers between hers, pressing down into the mattress.

'Ready?' he asked quietly, aligning his hips with hers. She nodded, looking him in the eyes. Her legs moved apart gingerly, and she sighed as she felt him between her, her heels on the back of his quadriceps.

He thrust his hips forward, and a guttural groan escaped both of them – he buried his face in her neck, and she tilted her neck backward, her back arching off the bed, her hands tightening hard within his.

'_Enjolras,'_ she whimpered,and he did it again, causing another moan to escape from her lips – a noise that drove him crazy.

Their fingers remained laced tightly together as he moved his hips forward against her again and again, until she felt the pressure building in her – the pressure was building in him too. His groans were deep and throaty, Eponine's moans were soft and long. Together, the sound of each other's voices was helping to push each of them closer and closer to the edge.

'I'm..._close,'_ she managed to whisper, and he nodded into her throat. His hands left hers to fit under her waist, and hers moved to his back. She scratched her fingers along his back, with each thrust, and each throe of ecstasy, her fingernails went deeper; gasps and moans filling the darkness. His hands on her waist served to pull her hips up to meet his, and she wrapped her legs around his back, feeling the pressure reach its peak.

He pulled her up to meet him one final time, and she gasped, letting out his name in a gasping scream, straining against him. He held her tight as her body tensed up, and then released her, gazing down at her as she dropped onto her back, her chest heaving. He had reached his edge too, and he lay slackly on her, and she could feel his breathing against her collarbones. She weakly moved her hand up to his hair, absently running her fingers through it, as she tried to catch her breath again.

He could feel her body still trembling in the slight aftermath of all that had just happened. He turned his head upwards to press a kiss against her jaw bone, and trailed his fingers soothingly up and down the sides of her body, until she was almost still again.

'What have you done to me, Eponine?' he murmured, putting his chin on her chest, looking up at her.

'For someone who claims never to have done this before, you seem like quite the expert,' she said, with a blush.

'Maybe I'm just a natural,' he said, winking at her. He got up, and pulled the sheets up to cover her, turning her onto her stomach so he could kiss the angry bruises on her back one last time, treating her body as though it was made of porcelain, glass and gold.

'The only time I ever expect to see any marks on your body again,' he murmured against her skin, 'is if they're caused by me, only by us doing what we just did. Am I clear?'

He gently pulled her head back with his hands in her hair, and nipped sharply against the side of her throat, eliciting a sweet whimper of delight from her, to prove his point.

Eponine smiled, the blood rushing to her cheeks again. He turned her face to give her a kiss on her pretty, smiling mouth, and then pulled her against him.

'Sleep here tonight,' he whispered into her hair.

'I wasn't going to leave,' she replied.

That wasn't even sex, she thought. That was what the poets had called 'making love.'

In the darkness, she kissed his neck and his shoulder, and then buried her face into his chest, listening to his breathing in correlation to the rise and fall of this chest, for many minutes after he had finally fallen asleep.


	6. A Revolution Approaches

_**HELLO!**_

_**I'm so sorry this chapter took so long, went to Florida for 10 days and obviously I couldn't get any writing done then! But here it is, Chapter 6! J Chapter 7 has also already been written out, so I'll post that one as soon as you all are ready! Sorry again for the wait! Thank you for all the amazing and kind reviews that have been coming in both on this website and on Tumblr, you're all so amazing and I'm so humbled and honoured. Please leave your thoughts at the end! Thank you so much xxxx**_

Eponine was in a state of calm.

She was asleep, flat on her back as she always was, one hand on her stomach, the other, angled upward at her elbow, out next to her, in a delicate, involuntary position.

She was drifting between sleep and consciousness. Never had she slept in a proper bed before, never had she felt so calm before. It was a strange calm – especially with all that she was going through right now, with all that France was going through right now. A sort of hazy joy was flowing through her veins, pressing down on her bones, easing all the pain she had not realized she had carried until now.

She heard her name in the midst of the darkness, and she felt a light touch against her collarbones. She didn't want to get up. She wanted to bask in the dim glory of this feeling for a long, long time. Outside the door was a country full of angry men and women, oppression, a distorted hierarchy; a country on the brink of war and death and suffering. She didn't want to go there. Not right now.

The faint touch against her collarbones came again, this time, she felt it more strongly. She was waking up.

She kept her eyes closed, trying to catch her bearings; trying to remember where she was. It took a second, but then it all came flooding back, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't suppress the smile that came to her lips when she remembered what had happened the night before.

'Awake, then?'

She heard his voice from the left of her, and she bit down on her lip, shaking her head, her eyes still closed.

He moved his hand from her collarbones, and she felt him turn next to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and pulling her against him, on her side. She felt his nose and then his lips at her throat, and she sighed, feeling his curly hair at the base of her chin.

'You'll only want to make me stay here forever, you know,' she said quietly.

He didn't respond; he just continued kissing his way up and down her throat, jaw and collarbones.

'What's the time?'

'5AM,' he replied. 'I have to leave soon.'

It was Eponine's turn to wrap her arms around his neck, and bury her face in his shoulder.

'Don't go.'

'Have you forgotten who you're talking to?' he replied, his tone amused. He ran his fingers through her long, dark hair, and down her back, as she melted into his touch. They stayed that way for a few quiet seconds, then he gently untangled himself from her, and disappeared into the next room.

About five minutes later he returned, looking as glorious as he always did, fully suited in his day-to-day wear of black trousers that he wore tucked into his boots, his white shirt with the scarlet suspenders, and the red jacket with the gold lining that every person in Paris recognized as 'the chief's coat'. Eponine looked at him, admiringly, unabashed at how deeply she was staring – at the contours of his face – his sharp cheekbones, his strong jaw, his gorgeous blue eyes, the stern set of his lips, his beautiful blonde hair, his strong stance. He really was, she thought, the most beautiful person in the world. More beautiful, even, than Marius – something she was exceedingly surprised that she had not noticed before.

'What?' he asked, seeming unexpectedly self-conscious for a second.

'You really are something to look at,' said Eponine

'That's just a bit ironic, coming from you,' he teased, his mouth breaking into a little smile. 'I have to leave now, Eponine. You know we are only hours away from this revolution.'

'I'll come down to the Musain soon as well,' she replied, sitting up.

'I'll see you soon, then,' he replied. He turned to leave, but paused on the turn, lingering for a few seconds, as if he was having an afterthought. Then he turned back to Eponine, and walked back to the side of where she was sitting. He leaned over, taking her face in his hands, and gave her a gentle kiss on the mouth.

'The future isn't certain, especially not these days,' he explained. 'It's best to make the most of what we have while we still have it, just in case.'

Eponine nodded. 'I've never seen anyone more dedicated to a cause than you, Enjolras. You, and all of the boys at the Cafe. This revolution is your life.'

'Which just reinforces my dread for if it were to fail,' he said. 'But we speak for France, and as such, France supports us and our cause, they will help us in our fight, and if they come out as we hope they do, there really is no way for us to lose this war.'

He let go of her face, and turned away, walking out of the room, and closing the door behind him.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and got up, pulling her dress off the back of a chair and throwing it on. General Lamarque's funeral was tomorrow. Tomorrow the revolution would begin.

For a seventeen year old street urchin, there was so much pain and suffering that had happened in Eponine's life. It seemed a bit unfair that as soon as she was able to find some sort of happiness, a whole new wave of violence, terror and upheaval would begin. But then again, her whole life had been unfair. It was the life of a poor French girl, she thought, as she folded the sheets in half, and smoothed out the bed. And she should not complain. Where would complaining get her?

She sat on the edge of the bed, and put her head in her hands. She could not forget Marius' smiles, or his cheeky little jokes, or his friendship. She couldn't forget how he made her feel like 'one of the boys', or how he was never ashamed to be seen with her in public. He had given her as much confidence as he had given her butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

But she also couldn't forget anything about Enjolras. The way he touched her, the way he held her, the way those dark, fierce eyes became soft only for her. To him, Eponine wasn't 'one of the boys'. To him, she was a woman, a beautiful, desirable, lovely young woman – everything she had ever wanted to be to someone. And he didn't see her just as a delicate young girl – he saw her as his equal, his match. He saw her passion, her vigour, the dark mystery in her eyes that nobody else could see, the way she bore her suffering and pain with a witty word, the alpha-female sensuality that played on her lips whenever she smiled. She represented what he fought for, she represented his Patria – the strength and the loveliness and the suffering of France – and he was disgusted with both himself for not noticing her before, and also towards Marius for pitching aside someone like Eponine for a pretty bourgeoisie girl he had seen on the street. Such girls were common and plentiful – but someone like Eponine was not.

Enjolras had made her happy, something Marius could never bring himself to do. And she wasn't about to let that go.

She stood up, taking a deep breath. She would take her place with them tomorrow. And she would do her best to make her country proud. To make Enjolras proud. She wasn't about to give up the only person in the world that had ever shown her love.

And if he were to die, she would die too.

Beside him, on the barricade.


	7. It's A Revolution, I Suppose

It was an early morning in June. For all intents and purposes, it was a lovely day. It was sunny, with just a touch of welcome humidity in the air. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

It was the day of General Lamarque's funeral. All the planning that had been going on at the Musain for months, had led up to today. All of the Amis were up before 4AM, hunching over the tables with their maps and candles, hanging on to each word that Enjolras was saying.

Eponine had been up just as early as the rest of them, and was busy at work, making sure all of her things were prepared. She had all of her medical equipment – well the handy things that were the closest she could get to them – and she was sitting to the side of the room, just listening to Enjolras speak. Listening to him speak made her smile. The passion, the fervour, the conviction in his voice – it was enough to inspire anyone beyond anything they thought was possible.

Marius was there too, but there was unhappiness in his face. Eponine knew just as well as everyone else in the room that it was because Cosette had not come back to him. And she couldn't blame him. She knew what it was like to be disappointed all her life. To be sad.

Until these past few weeks.

She looked at Enjolras as he spoke. The blonde hair that fell into his bright eyes as he smashed his fist against the table. The way that he bit his lip when he was concentrating on something. The way his eyes sparkled as he talked about 'liberty', 'equality' and 'fraternity'.

He was so beautiful, she thought. So, so, beautiful.

And that was precisely the reason she had not loved him before the way she had loved Marius. Marius had entertained her, spoken to her. Eponine had always been around Enjolras, but always too intimidated to approach him directly – as brave as she was. He was a vision of beauty and passion and spirit, and Eponine had gone her entire life feeling as though she was worthless. And he was the epitome of power and strength.

And now, as she was looking at him, he raised his head and turned to her, and their eyes met. And she realized that those insecurities were unwarranted. He would have never looked down on her. How could he? He was fighting for people just like her. How could he ever treat her like scum? How could she have ever thought so?

She gave him a little smile, and then dropped her gaze. She knew his dedication to France came first.

But still, she felt his gaze on her for a long second after she dropped her eyes, before his fist came down on the table, and his voice once again filled the reverent silence of the Musain.

* * *

'This is it, lads!'

Bahorel's voice came in a shout, as all the boys got to their feet. Joly, who had the majority of Eponine's first-aid supplies in a bag, slung it across his body, and smiled.

'Revolution has come to meet us!'

'I propose a toast to Enjolras for this,' drawled Grantaire, raising his bottle high in the air. 'What say you, boys?'

Enjolras rolled his eyes. 'No, thank you. I'd rather you not lose your wits through your beloved alcohol at such early morning hours, Grantaire.'

Eager to stop conflict, Marius seized Grantaire around the shoulders, and steered him towards the door. One by one, the boys exited. Eponine was putting together the last of her supplies, and heard their footsteps patter on through the front door.

'Come along, then, Enjolras?'

It was Feuilly's voice.

'You go on, I'll be along in a minute. Remember where you all stand, on the sides of the road which the funeral procession will pass through. Tell Marius that I have organized with a comrade in the square all of the flags of the revolution.'

'Yes, Enjolras.'

Feuilly closed the door. Eponine heard footsteps again, becoming louder and louder. Enjolras was coming back upstairs. His footsteps were now directly in front of the room, and she could see a shadow under the door.

He opened the door, to see her putting her final materials in her own little bag.

'Aren't you coming, Eponine?'

'Yes.. I'm just getting the last of these things ready.'

'Do we have enough of the first-aid supplies?'

'It should last. I'll make it last.'

She smiled at him. 'Are you afraid that anything will happen to you?'

'No. I've waited for this day for a long time. The only thing I'm nervous about is failing France.'

'I don't think you will.'

He smiled back at her. 'Thank you.'

He extended his hand to her, and she took it, getting up. She put the bag diagonally across her body, just as Joly had.

'Are you afraid that anything will happen to _you?'_ he asked, as they walked downstairs.

'A little bit,' she admitted. 'But I'll be alright.'

He let go of her hand to pick up something from the table near the front door, leaning over it to read one of the plans that the Amis had written over their countless nights in the Musain.

'Enjolras,' said Eponine, breathlessly. Beyond the door of the Musain was a world about to erupt into chaos and uncertainty, and she couldn't let them go without being close to him one more time.

He turned to her, and was almost knocked off his feet as she dashed into his arms, kissing him with every ounce of passion and affection for him in her small body.

He steadied himself, and steadied her, bracing himself by grabbing her by the elbows.

'I'm so sorry,' she said, as she stepped back. 'I.. I couldn't..'

But her words were cut short as he drew himself up to his full height – so much taller than her – backing her up against the door. He looked down at her, taking her face in his hands.

'After all we've been through, and you still apologize for _kissing me?'_

Eponine blushed, biting her lip. A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth.

He reached behind her, grabbing the back of her upper legs, lifting her up and pressing her against the door, so that her legs hung on either side of his waist. She reached her arms around his neck, wrapped her legs around his hips, and pressed her forehead against his.

'You mean so much to me,' she whispered. 'So much.'

He did that adorable, stupid thing he always did – kissing her when she was in the middle of saying something. She giggled and kissed him back, closing her eyes and burying her hands in his hair, pulling him closer and closer to her. For a beautiful moment, she forgot that there was a war outside of this door. They would have to go to it soon.

But even if just for five minutes, he was hers, and she was his.

* * *

Thousands of people were standing on either side of the street. The trumpets sounded, heralding the oncoming funeral procession

Marius, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were standing with Enjolras on one side; Lesgles, Joly, Jehan and Bahorel were standing on the opposite side. The taste of rebellion was strong in the air, and everyone could see the hint of fear on the face of the soldiers, who were leading the procession.

As soon as the carriages turned onto the street, Enjolras and Combeferre stepped out of their places on the sides of the street. Enjolras walked steadily into the middle of the road in the dead silence, facing the oncoming procession, a red flag clenched in both of his hands.

'For General Lamarque!' he shouted, his voice full of power and fire.

The soldiers halted, looking at him –

Then there was a massive noise as hundreds of people from the crowd raced out of their places to join Enjolras in the street. The Amis darted through the crowd, climbing onto the carriage, waving the red flags and the flag of France high in the air, flanked by the growing number of people that were running out to accompany them. Eponine, who had run out of her place and was walking along the side of the carriage looked up and saw Enjolras standing on the peak of it, waving the flag, his face and eyes alight with joy. Her heart swelled – she knew he could not be happier than he was at that exact moment in time.

The soldiers were confused – the sheer number of Parisians that had joined in made it almost impossible to curb. But one soldier, a young man with a heart of stone, reached for his musket, aimed it at the crowd, and fired.

There was a scream as a middle-aged woman fell to the ground, clutching at her chest. Blood was seeping through her fingers at an alarming rate, and dozens of people fell to their knees to help her.

'MURDERER!' they screamed at the soldiers, some attempting to assault the soldiers as they passed. Then the sounds of gunshots filled the air as the soldiers retaliated.

Eponine's heart was pounding – the chaos had begun. All she could see around her were faces full of terror and excitement, all she could hear was cursing, screaming, and chants of '_Vive la France!'_

And then she felt someone grab her by the hand, and pull her through the crowd. All she had to see was the bright red jacket and the back of that blonde head to know exactly who it was. Her adrenaline was pulsing through her veins as they raced toward the Musain, away from the soldiers.

By the time they got there, Courfeyrac and Jehan were already yelling at the occupants of the buildings on either side of the Musain to throw their furniture down to create the barricade. Eponine let go of Enjolras' hand and stepped back as the furniture came raining down – tables, chairs, pianos, bookshelves –

She looked on as the cluster of furniture turned into a high, powerful barricade. She looked on as the Amis raced up the barricade to take their places around Enjolras as he set the flag of the revolution down at the top of the barricade, and looked up at the sky, as if willing God to bring them victory, in their fight to the death.


End file.
